eighteen, in march
by ASWF
Summary: Because not all revelations strike on the battlefield. March comes in like a lion, and we start from zero. Kiriyama Rei, eighteen.


thanks theLaziestHufflepuff (ao3/tumblr) for the beta, and for encouraging me to finish this!

* * *

It is like watching himself on television.

Onscreen, the grieving character eats out of pots. The pots then go unwashed for weeks. Showering only when they must go out - and then they skip both grocery trips and meals, when they don't feel like showering.

He sympathises. He too, ignores mould and procrastinates paying the bills.

"Oh, situational depression," Akari-san comments, following his line of sight.

What? Further conversation is diverted by Hina-chan's latest attempt at making breakfast solo. Everything else passes in a blur. They eventually leave for Saturday shift, so he too heads home.

Unknowingly, he trails to a stop on the bridge. If that fictional character is depressed, then he too - but really?

This has come out of nowhere. Of course he is sad sometimes, but –

He looks down at peeling sneakers, and then up at a sun already peaked, and suddenly feels like he belongs somewhere else.

Does he really want to face a cold, empty house that sometimes still seems like an escapist lie he's dreamed up? No.

Last night's spring shower seems to have never happened at all.

Why is it always like this? He hates this feeling: forever, knowingly, being half-hearted. Always regretting everything he does and doesn't do, nothing feels real. Sick of falling, and yet he keeps on falling. Why?

Lost eyes fall on the nearby supermarket.

In an empty world bleached by blinding yet heatless sun, the supermarket alone seems like possible refuge. Anywhere – anything - is better than spiralling thoughts.

Though he has always treated it so gently, his heart is so easily broken still. He has no answers. Nothing, but suffocating silence.

And so he flees.

* * *

Glass doors open automatically, and welcome him with cool air.

There is hardly anyone else around. It is quiet, but not silent. His attention seizes onto mellow background music, and it mercifully silences his insides.

Finally, he can breathe.

With nowhere to go, he can only wander forth.

Enough, already. He's had enough of not even boiling water for the darned cup noodles, or managing only bread. He is altogether tired of skipping meals.

The first thing he sees is fresh fruit, overflowing with colour. Tired of feeling tired; that's all there is.

Seriously - studying _shōgi_ only because the board is already out and he can do nothing else – tired of just existing and fighting, when actually even he too wants to _live_ and win –

Apples – a no-brainer, and it still takes him seconds to decide.

The instincts should have already come by now. Has he suppressed even this?

Oh, peaches. Alright. By the time he realises what is happening, the world has already moved on.

Strawberries are in season. It isn't always about 'I don't want to exist', 'meaning does not exist' or 'everything is a lie'. He believes none of it. Even so, his psyche apparently can still be injured.

Plums. Why not.

Nagano is nearly three hundred kilometres away. He fears that if he returns, he won't be able to leave again. He still doesn't want to go. Can't.

It has already been ten years. And still, it has never healed. But maybe, someday.

At least he now knows what this is.

_(Because he's never had a safe place to notice his wounds, before moving out.)_

Oh, right. He needs a fruit peeler.

While he searches, the swinging melody loops on itself. Seeing the dream is the start of everything, and all the answer anyone needs, it says.

_(Hm. Shōgi, probably.)_

Where would he be now without _shōgi_?

_(Dead. He would have been dead already.)_

He picks up _udon_. Cereal. He nearly forgets the milk. Crackers - the plainest, cheapest they have. Instant _ramen_. He has no rice cooker, so…forget rice. Troublesome. Instant curry packs for the _udon_.

'If I didn't have _shōgi_, if my fathers didn't care enough to share it with me; if my family hadn't loved me enough all those years ago – if I hadn't met Akari-san, if Sensei didn't care, if the Chem Club didn't take me in...I couldn't have taken one more failure.'

But taken one more he has, against Shimada-san, and made it to the other side of that storm. Who could have guessed?

Frozen vegetables. If he freezes it all, he won't have to cook regularly.

Of course he is sad.

And what else should he have expected? Losing his entire world, only to get stuck in a quagmire for ten years - and then kicking himself out again, to flee the noxious hatred that sometimes still follows him -

Ten years. He almost wants ten years back. Why does he only now realise what this is?

An entire decade – that is all of his teenage years, and what should have been the best of his childhood. But there couldn't have been any other way, in the end.

Frozen meat. Frozen fish; frozen everything. He doesn't even own a cooking knife - he really is a kid. Easy solution: buy one. Is he an adult yet?

Situational depression improves with healthy grieving, when he looks it up on his phone. So much came so fast…and he hasn't even known.

Fine. _Miso_ keeps, right? Can he freeze _tōfu_? What else do people put in _miso_ soup? Don't know, don't care. Good enough.

_(His cooking will be good enough for himself, if nobody else.)_

He idly wonders how Akari-san knows the difference between situational and clinical depression, new jargon that he has only just seen in another language on the web. Oh – she must have already dealt with what he is only just realising he must.

His hands freeze on the cold _tōfu_. He should have seen this about the people who have been too good to him, and tried to help -

(But he knows now, and now he can at least act. Not just for himself, but also for everyone else. Surely, one day, he can manage even just _miso_ soup.)

The world slows down just momentarily, when he makes that decision.

Reality slowly filters back in. The looping song says, 'It hurts, right? But we know - we must stand back up soon, or our chances will run away.'

Alright. A mop? More urgently – he needs a new broom. The shopping basket is almost full, so he takes the smallest one.

He passes by letter sets. Glittering and pastel-coloured, they are the fancy ones that people write beautiful, healing words on. He has no such light within. Maybe once.

Maybe someday, he reminds himself. His chances are only absolute zero with inaction and ignorance.

And so he goes on. He wants - needs - change. Anything is better than staying where he is and never knowing anything else.

_Anything_ beats cold, empty, absolute zero. This is the first thing _shōgi_ teaches: with knowledge comes hope.

He finds out that bleach comes in endless variations. Why? Too many choices. He turns away. White vinegar is awesome for cleaning; he's heard Hina-chan say before. But he doesn't know what exactly it does. He doesn't –

But he forgives himself a little easier; he knows he is more fragile. He accepts that he is still healing. He might even be healing forever, and that is nonetheless okay.

Dodging into the children's section, his world dissolves into a panorama of smiling colours. Slow, deep breaths. He will not cry while alone, lest he drown in his own tears.

Never again.

He has already learned the lesson as a child, but this self-aware compassion is something he now chooses to give himself as an adult.

Stickers for Momo-chan, just because as a working adult he can – and a traitorous whisper adds, before he ruthlessly quashes it: 'Because I can no longer buy any for Chihiro.'

Closing stinging eyes, he sees cupboards glittering pink and gold. He reopens his eyes to escape old memory; and then he is only holding sheets of sparkling stickers still in their packaging, yet to be released.

Turning away, he keeps his eyes fixed on the present. It is his fervent hope that Momo-chan covers everything in colour and sparkle.

Still, all the glitter in the world cannot hide this fact: life is terrifying. He will lose repeatedly, despite all his best. He will destroy families endlessly when he wins.

Yet, he also has been far luckier than deserved.

He will still find some way to pick himself up, over and over. Snow melts every spring. A thousand more hot meals at the Kawamoto house, heavens willing. There are many more kind people to meet.

People who will walk on together with him; he likes the thought. Turning a corner again, he is met with towering shelves of snacks.

Maybe he will invite his club-mates over, if snacking alone is sad. He might bring it up this coming weekend, when they dig up old equipment at Noguchi-senpai's. He decides to hoard _ramune_ – a new favourite – and crowd-pleasing melon soda.

So many memories he's dropped along the way. All the _sakura_ petals have long since fallen into never-ending rivers, while his unstopping train moves on. He can never double back; nobody can.

Only the gratitude that it has once happened is his to keep.

The groceries accumulate, so he gets a trolley and moves on. Groceries accumulate, and so shall the _sakura_.

A small crowd surrounds the discounted pastries. He joins in. Melon-_pan_, sponge-cake and sausage rolls. Breakfast for the week: settled.

Because he would never stay down and quietly accept defeat. However things turn out, he is destined for the battlefield, literal or otherwise. His soul is probably even shaped like a _shōgi_ board. That is where he belongs.

(And he is fine with that.)

_'Because you want and need to own both the present and the future, hold every coming sunrise - '_

Bottled green tea is cheaper here than at the vending machines. It is heavy, but he'd rather suffer once than make multiple trips. Almost done.

Though unwilling to admit it, part of him still dreams of reaching further than anyone else. Even if nothing lies at the end, even if - especially if – he throws all of himself at it.

Pocky shelves next. Spring brings with it the _sakura_-flavoured ones. His mind quietens as he rummages through new flavours.

Truly, when has he last bought Pocky? And he has so loved it before. It is a privilege to be doing this again, with his own money, even if he is now alone. The ambient sound, of leisurely shoppers and looping song, trickles gently back into his consciousness.

_'Because I've always heard the countdown.'_

Like this, the world seems gentler, and much more real.

_'For I have always been prepared for it, since long ago and way before – always waiting for this...because this is me, changing it all back to zero.'_

Because this is the truth. It is real, every single word of it. He now wishes he'd left with this song soaring in his heart back then, instead of only pain.

Oh, one last thing. He swings back to get the sisters' favourite _inari_.

Right. Off to the cashier. Afternoon rush now approaches, rising like a gently-swelling wave.

But guess what? Somehow, he doesn't quite feel like he is going to drown today.

(He sees long brown hair standing in the way, in his mind's eye. He chooses to brush past her once more. And then again. He has ruined her life; true. But he cannot be solely responsible for her continued commitment to dysfunction - just as he cannot possibly be responsible for every opponent's personal destiny.)

"This will be all, please."

Moving away: it's the best thing he's ever done, and he's never given himself credit for it until Hayashida-sensei told him to. He winds his way around the crowd - always facing forward, and will never look back -

_'You think I live on for myself?'_

Behind him, glass doors slide close.

He is alive, he is still standing here and feeding himself with his own money – he wins. It is as simple as that.

_('And so what if even I did?')_

* * *

He crosses the bridge once more.

For once, the world feels real. Solid. Something touchable, and which can touch him back. Chuo Ōhashi soars and sprawls, white and unwavering. He stops and stares.

Icy wind on his face, heavy plastic bags in his hands. Cold clear air: deep and full in his chest.

All his life - even just hours ago - it has always only been a lonely monochromatic dream.

Now everything seems almost technicolour. Is he imagining it, or is today truly warmer than yesterday?

How does one enter a _kotatsu_ and not fear leaving its protection? One day, he'll find out. Someday, soon. While we all wait for rebirth – see you, someday, on the other side.

This is him going forth with open eyes.

When he reaches his place across the bridge, it even feels less cold. (Alone no more.)

This is the end, of ten years of slumber.

Fleeing from a waking nightmare, his world thaws only upon meeting Akari-san. He discovers anew after speaking with Takashashi-kun that despite everything, he still can connect with another person. It takes losing to Shimada-san to know that he has never wanted to win; and yet he uncovers raging fighting instinct even after defeat. His robotic heart learns that it can still feel when the Chemistry Club takes him in –

…and this is realisation, ten years in the making: that not only does he want to survive, he wants to thrive – and he is willing to trade all the hardship in the world for it.

* * *

He only realises spring is here, when he takes off his jumper and _sakura_ petals fall to the floor.

He brushes one hand through his hair. More flowers appear. With pink blossoms scattered everywhere and looking like a blanket stitched out of dreams and promises, his space does not look so empty.

There are even petals in his groceries. How does Akari-san do this, again?

No idea. It all goes into the freezer, anyway. He dumps meat on one side and vegetables on the other. Maybe everyone else would have known how to do this.

Oh well. As if a messy fridge is going to kill him now, after everything else –

People like the Meijin Souya on the other hand…

The current Shishi-ou shines like an eternal sunrise, high above in an ocean of clouds beyond the horizon.

Untouchable. Unreachable.

Rei himself is only human, a mere beginner. He still can't scale a mountain without tearing his hands open. Gotou has beaten that lesson into him, as have kinder opponents.

His fridge is bigger than expected. Many things are, on hindsight.

He leaves Momo-chan's glittery stickers on the empty countertop, where they would not be forgotten.

Perishables, done. They are all perishables in the end.

Yet despite it all – he is turning eighteen. Spring is already here, and this is his life's work. No King can reign forever.

(Anything goes, really. If he has to leave blood all over Fujisan to see sunrise break over its frozen summit like divine fire, so be it. This is one good thing: he is long numb within. He can bleed and feel nothing, and then still go home to happily buy bread for the sisters.)

Oh, he is hungry. More than that - he wants to feed himself properly. This is new.

Food first. _Sakura_ petals can wait on the floor.

It starts with an egg. Next: fresh onion, scallions, carrot and cabbage. Instant noodles it is still, but he would make an honest effort at _some_ nutrition.

Onion stings. Even so, he'd rather cry onion tears while feeding himself, than lonely hungry ones.

He crinkles dried seaweed over it to finish. It does not approach the sisters' craftsmanship, but does it matter?

Everyone starts from zero.

This first real attempt makes all the difference. Maybe tomorrow he'll be even hungrier, and have two eggs instead.

While the noodles cook, he seizes momentum. It is not so different from _shōgi_: move while you can. Every shred of effort is a win.

Unwrap the new broom. The garbage bag is on the other side of the apartment. Shrugging, he leaves the plastic wrapping where it is. He stands up first.

(Stand up first. That is how you keep going.)

No matter how difficult or lonely it becomes, he chooses this for himself - and he will always choose so - live while looking forward.

He wants to prove himself stronger. And if he can still do that much –

Harunobu has it right. They are such hot-blooded kids, no matter how cool they pretend to be.

But they are also turning eighteen; no new adult should face their future without courage. The rest of Japan traditionally comes of age at twenty. Rei has no such luxury.

(Honestly? He doesn't need it anyway.)

With lunch cooking and a song looping inside him, he needs nothing else.

_'Because I still want to be the biggest dreamer: advance with all I am, to always hone in on the target and hit it with all I have; and I'll show it to you - I will reach further than anyone else, far beyond the horizons.'_

He sweeps uncaringly toward the balcony with the new broom. All of it: only ashes from the past, and best thrown away. He slides one side of glass door and curtain fully open.

Light floods in instantly, soft yet blazing, criss-crossing in formless towers. Everything comes to a gentle, glowing stand-still.

How has he never noticed that the open glass edges throw rainbows?

The empty space suddenly overflows. The world vanishes into clear pink petals, dazzling sunbeams and a thousand tiny rainbows.

Pink and silver swirl restlessly on his floor, as the spring breeze rises. They rush outward, and the movement snaps him back to reality. He chases them, to where the winds await in open sky.

Fallen flowers, old grime; bitter regret and yesterday's fears – out, fly away.

Weightlessly, soundlessly, fluttering_ sakura_ petals ascend. High in the sky, they collide in loose sprawling helices, spilling out from dreams made entirely of first light.

Even the dust dances up into the air, and in the sun shine silver.

The shimmering spirals ripple and overlap in soft white light. Glistening silver and shining clear pink, they almost look like victory confetti: this is his newly-visible hope, that it might come soon.

Not all revelations come on the battlefield, or strike like a thunderstorm. This is him choosing to awaken, choosing to live on, choosing to give his all.

_Sakura_ soaring away, falling like gentle first rain – is this what the beginning of spring looks like?

All he will ever have is him, and he is okay with that.

For right now, this is his best.

Kiriyama Rei - mind, soul and fingers dyed black and white through and through, colourless as the lifeless boards he fights on: even he glows pale gold and overlapping rainbow, in March.

In spring...perhaps his tears might vanish into the flow of time, even without him wiping them away.

Today, for the first time –

for once; and he hopes, perhaps now until forever –

\- he feels eighteen.

* * *

end-notes:

1\. The tall white bridge so iconic in 3gatsu imagery: Chuo Ohashi, at Hatchobori station, just a few stops away from Ginza by the Hibiya line. It is bigger than it looks in the anime or live-action films; i've seen SF's Golden Gate, and i was still impressed. The glittering waterfront, seagulls and boats are all real – it is well worth a visit!

2\. to anyone looking for one more thing to help take care of themselves: Henriques' "What To Do If You Are Depressed" series on PsychToday helped me a lot, especially Part 9's behavioural activation.

3\. song: Wada Kouji's 'The Biggest Dreamer'


End file.
